by Nicole Helm
“You? You?”
“It’s a lot cheaper than getting it dry-cleaned.”
“Well, yeah, but jeez. What’d you do? Intern at a dry cleaner? That’s unholy.”
He didn’t say anything, just watched the grungier side of town get a shade more sparkling as they drove up and away from the river, toward the police station.
She concentrated on the road and he was silent. This was only her third time field training someone, but the other two guys had been different. Talkative, easygoing. Even if she’d wished Granger’d shut up most of the time, silence was weird. She wished for Granger’s grandstanding BS in the face of heavy, awkward silence.
“So, um, what brings you to Bluff City?” She flicked a glance at him to gauge his reaction. Nothing on his face changed, but as she moved her gaze back to the road she noticed his hand had clenched around his knee.
Hmm.
“Family,” he said at length. He didn’t say it in a way that made it sound positive. Well, that she understood.
“You grow up around here?”
“No.”
That was it.
Man, it was going to be a long three months.
* * *
AFTER NINE YEARS of being on the road, three months of field training was frustrating. Marc understood why it was necessary. Different laws, procedures, protocol.
But sitting shotgun in a patrol car that smelled like...hell if he knew. Something feminine and flowery. All shoved into an uncomfortable seat he couldn’t recline because of the cage in the back. Being pelted with questions by Chatty McGee FTO lady.
He would prefer clawing his way out and jumping from the still-moving vehicle.
Was everyone at BCPD going to be so damn chatty? At his old department there’d been a group of guys who were chummy, but they’d let him be. He was respected. Maybe a little feared, but he preferred that kind of distance to Tess’s cheery interrogation.
“Soooo.” She drummed her fingers against the steering wheel, eyes on the road. She’d driven them around their zone, talked about landmarks and the like. Things he’d already known because he’d memorized the Bluff City map. Because he wasn’t some rookie who didn’t know how to handle himself.
“We don’t have to talk, you know.”
She frowned over at him. “We’re going to be sharing a lot of space here. You want to sit in silence for three months?”
“Silence is better than...”
“Than?”
He shifted uncomfortably. This woman put him at some serious unease. Small talk was not something he’d ever excelled at. He preferred quiet. Assess a situation, a person before weighing in.
He preferred being careful and not making people damn uncomfortable. Tess did not have the same beliefs, it seemed.
So, turnabout was fair play, right? “Okay, you want to chat? What happened to your arm last night?” Because he didn’t give a crap about her taste in music or her favorite restaurant, but he was kind of desperate to know what the hell happened to her arm.
As he’d predicted, she closed right up. Gaze hard on the street. Fingers tightening on the steering wheel. “It was nothing.”
“Sure, everyone goes home at night crashing into things, cursing, bleeding onto the hallway floor.”
Her mouth quirked at the corner. “Well, I thought so.” She glanced at him again. “So, Mr. Stiffy has a sense of humor?” She closed her eyes, cheeks blotching pink. “Oh, that sounded...not how I meant.”
Only then did he get what she was embarrassed about. Only then did he feel a matching embarrassing heat flood his face.
This was turning out to be a hell of a first day.
“Anyway. I was visiting my dad. Glass broke. Caught me in the arm.”
He wondered if she had any clue what a shit liar she was. First of all, the story was too vague. Second, the tenseness in her shoulders meant she wasn’t comfortable with the subject. As did the way she restlessly pushed the car into Reverse.
“Let’s go grab some lunch, huh?”
He didn’t verbally respond, just gave her a nod. He wondered if his chatty FTO was in trouble, and if it would affect him.
Unfortunately, he was all out of patience with other people’s lives affecting his, and he had a bad feeling about Tess Camden.
CHAPTER TWO
“CAMDEN. FRANKS WANTS to see you.” The radio crackled and then shut off.
Tess glanced at Marc, who was, of course, still staring out the window. She’d switched tactics from trying to be friends with the guy to focusing on work. Third day in, he still barely said a word and barely seemed to listen.
He did catch on quick, though, which was kind of a pain in the ass.
Tess grabbed the radio and muttered into the speaker, “En route.” To Marc she said, “Should only take a few. You can poke around the station. Check out the gym or something.”
He nodded.
She really hated that nod. His silence. His stoic blankness. She hated that it made her wonder. No personality? Woman hater? Deep dark secrets?
She had enough on her plate without trying to figure out Mr. Stiffy. Yeah, she’d said that back on the first day. Jeez. Maybe she needed to practice some of this guy’s stoicism.
And quick, if Franks wanted to see her.
She pulled into the station lot, rolling her shoulders to rid herself of the heavy rock of dread knotted between them. Franks rarely called someone into his office for anything positive, and she really hadn’t done anything to garner positive lately.
“You know where everything is?”
Another nod, no other verbal response. Seriously, who was this guy? Some kind of monk? Only allowed a certain number of words a day?
She didn’t have time to think about it. She had to do the dead-man-walking trek to Franks’s office.
The door was open, but she knocked anyway. She’d never been taken to task before, but she knew. She just knew.
“Yes?” Captain barked.
“You wanted to see me?”
“Camden. Yes. Come in. Close the door.”
Nope. Not good. But she did it, because, as with a lot of things, what choice did she have?
“We’ve had a few rumblings after last week.”
“Last week, sir?”
“You disappeared fifteen minutes before your shift was over. And you’re behind two reports from last week, as well.”
Tess tried to swallow the mortification so it didn’t show on her face. “I’ll have the reports turned in tonight before I leave.”
“Good. Good.” Captain Franks ran a hand over his balding head, looking moderately uncomfortable which was rare. “I know your father is...sick.”
But because she declined to say exactly what kind of sick, there was skepticism. She hated this treading-water feeling that was creeping up on her. Dad was getting worse and her life was starting to suffer. But the water kept lapping at her mouth, and she couldn’t find a way to swim toward the shore.
“It’s been a rough month. I’ll get it under control, Captain. I just...we don’t have anyone else.” She didn’t entertain tears, or her voice breaking, though both battled for prominence. Luckily she had a lot of practice fighting those things into submission.
“I know, Camden. You’re an excellent officer, but we’re also seeing our crime rates rise with the Dee’s Factory closing, and I need to know my men are on top of things.”
“I am. I am.”
“No more disappearing then. No matter how close to the end of your shift. No more late reports. I don’t want to have to write you up, but I can’t let things slide just because...”
Because she was a woman. Because her whole life was spinning plates on poles and she was so damn tired of spinning. But what other choice did
she have? “Absolutely.”
“Have the reports in tonight.”
She nodded. The reports were both nearly done, but she’d had to leave them unfinished last night when Dad had called, not making any sense, minutes from getting himself arrested or worse.
“If things get really bad, you can always consider taking a leave of absence, but you can’t slack off when you’re here.”
“I understand. It won’t happen again.”
“That’s good to hear, Camden. How’s our new officer?”
“Good. Quiet, but seems to know what’s what.”
“Good.” Franks nodded to the door. “I have every confidence you’ll train him right.”
Tess nodded back and headed for the door. For some reason, Captain’s confidence only made her feel worse. The man had given her more praise in a dressing-down than her father had in years, and yet she was risking this to keep her father out of trouble.
He doesn’t mean it.
Tess closed the door behind her and forced stiff legs down the hall. Once she turned the corner, she leaned her forehead against the wall, her eyes squeezing shut.
She had to find some answers, or she had to let whatever happened to Dad...happen.
You can’t do that. Not when he’s the way he is because of you.
She hated that voice in her head. Because it was lies. Irrational lies. Mom had left because, well, who knew? But no matter how obnoxious a kid Tess had been, neither she nor her father had deserved being deserted.
It wasn’t Tess’s fault.
Why couldn’t you be a good little girl, Tessie? Why’d she have to leave because of you?
She hated that voice, too. Dad drunk and weeping. Shoveling all the blame on her shoulders. It wasn’t her fault. It wasn’t. But the guilt, no matter how irrational, plagued her. She’d been seven when he’d first said that to her, and she’d done everything she could to make it not true.
Twenty-some years later, it was still true in her father’s eyes, and even when she was able to remind herself it was all crap, the fact of the matter was, Dad had no one else. So what could she do?
She let out a long breath. Just like always, she was the only one who could find an answer, fix things. And, just like always, she would. She had since she was that seven-year-old girl. She pushed away from the wall, straightened and then cringed when she saw Santino standing a few feet away.
“Bad meeting?” he asked, sounding almost sympathetic.
San Francisco really had some timing, didn’t he? “No. It was fine. I’ve got some reports to finish up real quick. Is it asking too much if we stick around for a few minutes? Thirty, tops. You can order some dinner, on me. Use the gym. Walk around.”
He shrugged, which she couldn’t read. Was he put out? Okay with it? She sighed. “I’m finishing up reports. You want to see how we do it?”
“Sure.”
Want to say more than one word? Have emotions of any kind? Small talk like we’re colleagues? Oh, she was cranky and she knew it, but seriously, the guy could give a little, couldn’t he?
She marched to the computer room and plopped on a chair. She brought the computer to life and went through the report, how they did them, when they were due. Every last boring detail as she transcribed the rest of the events from her two incidents into the system.
“Any questions, San Francisco?”
“I’m not answering to that anymore.”
“Why not? It’s a hell of a lot better than some of the other nicknames I could come up with.”
“California is a hellhole.”
She snorted. “Do you have a secret sense of humor in there?”
“Nope.”
“I think you’re lying.” She sent her reports to the printer. Maybe the guy was just shy. Even after three days. She’d have to work on him some more.
“Camden.”
Tess looked back at Berkley and Granger standing in the doorway. “What’s up, guys?”
“We wanted to meet the new guy. Had to thank him since we’re not the rookies anymore.”
“He’s still got a bunch more experience under his belt than you two dipshits.” She nodded to Marc. “Santino. This is Berkley. Granger. They’re full of shit. Don’t believe anything they say. Ever.”
“Aw, come on. We’re not that bad.”
She smiled at Berkley. Even though they made her feel old. Kids ten years her junior were wearing badges now. She felt motherly toward them. Might as well start walking with a cane.
“Franks rip you a new one?”
“Nah, he loves me.” She tried to smile, but with Marc looking at her so seriously and her phone buzzing—which was pretty much only ever Dad on a bender or someone calling about Dad on a bender—she mostly felt sick.
What she needed was to be around people. Not go back to her place and be alone, because when she was alone, all the guilt twisted until she couldn’t stop herself. She’d help Dad and screw herself in the process.
“Shit.” Granger grumbled about reverse sexism but it was mostly just a buzz in Tess’s head.
She needed a distraction. She needed to not be alone. Which was usually when she organized a department outing. That’s exactly what she needed. Dipshits complaining about her preferential treatment and making her feel old. Much better than dealing with Dad.
“Hey, you guys busy tonight?”
“Never too busy for you, sweetheart.”
“Screw off, Granger. We’re having a get-to-know-the-new-guy get-together at Good Wolf. See who else can go, huh? Meet up at eight.”
“Sure.”
She turned to Marc, determined not to care that he was scowling and obviously not happy that she’d created some fictional get-to-know-him event. The department had to be a family, and she needed a distraction so she didn’t screw up work with Dad again. Lucky for Marc, he was her new distraction.
* * *
THERE WERE A LOT of ways Marc could play this and not have to go. A lot of ways, and yet every time he thought of one, he inevitably thought about the look on Tess’s face when he’d found her after her meeting with the captain.
Lost.
It was uncomfortable, the urge to help that surged through him. It had always been uncomfortable, and that’s why he’d gone into police work. You could help without being too involved. The badge, the uniform, it all got to be a barrier.
You didn’t have to get wrapped up in someone else’s problems and lose sight of everything else in the process. You got to fix what you could fix under the law and move on. Not be constantly stewing in things you had no control over.
That barrier was kind of there with this, but not enough for his liking. It all felt too personal. Going for drinks with a bunch of people he didn’t know. All because he couldn’t say no to a woman who was his FTO and, as far as he could tell, a bit of a mess.
She did command a certain amount of respect around the station though. Even with the asshole “sweetheart” comment, people seemed to look at her and see fellow officer first, female second.
There weren’t a lot of guys who had felt that way at his last department. Still, respect or not, he didn’t want to go hang out at a bar with a bunch of people he didn’t know. Even if they were going to be his colleagues. Bars, laughter, people. He hadn’t done much of that. He’d always been so focused on doing what needed to be done, what was expected of him.
What might garner him some love and attention.
Yeah, well, even if he had moved here at his parents’ directive, it didn’t mean he was that same young kid desperate for their attention.
He scrubbed a hand over his face before shrugging into his jacket. This was his new life. Fresh start. No one knew him here. He didn’t have to be all closed off and stoic. Didn’t have to toe the line. Mom and Dad
were a whole state away and that wasn’t changing for months.
And it wouldn’t matter when they got here. They’d be so wrapped up in Leah and her boyfriend, the fucking amazing Jacob, what Marc did wouldn’t matter.
Never had. Wasn’t going to change.
Christ. Maybe a bar was exactly what he needed.
And what about Tess?
He yanked his door open. It didn’t matter if she was pretty. If his body had some different idea of her than his brain did. Because his body was kind of interested in her body. His mind? It found her irritating as hell. Besides, she was practically his superior.
Three days. He’d been at work three days, with a two-day break in between, and he was already screwed up. That was impressive, even for him.
“Thought you’d chicken out.”
He glanced up from locking his door to see Tess leaning against the rail at the top of the staircase. She’d changed. Jeans, long-sleeved T-shirt, leather jacket slung over her shoulder. Her hair was still pulled back, but in a looser way than it had been when she’d been in uniform.
There was nothing sexy about it. Nothing. But sexy was the first word that popped into his head anyway. Something about her heavy top lip, the look in her eyes, the sly smile on her face. As if she was queen of the world and she knew it.
Trouble. Plain and simple. He’d never done anything remotely resembling trouble. Was that why it seemed so enticing?
“Not exactly my first choice of evening activities.”
“Really? What would be?” She started walking down the stairs and he followed.
His gaze strayed to her ass, the jeans she wore perfectly molded to—nope.
“Let me guess. Something that requires silence? Meditation? Building creepy serial-killer shrines.”
“I’m not creepy.”
“You’re not exactly Mr. Warm and Friendly.”
“Quiet doesn’t equal serial killer.”
“But it can.”
“I’m a cop.”
“It doesn’t make us perfect.”
“Why am I doing this?”
She stopped at an old, junky sedan, jamming her key into the door. “I don’t know. Why are you doing this?”
